


A Single Chapter

by the_authors_exploits



Series: AJ's AUs [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: They’re a strange group: one boy adopted into wealth, two born into it, and a street smart orphan without a penny to his name. Not that it matters anymore; money hasn't had a purpose since the mechas invaded...





	A Single Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> I started thinking about how some of us are just blips in other people's story, and had to do something with that

They’re a strange group: one boy adopted into wealth, two born into it, and a street smart orphan without a penny to his name. Lucky for the orphan, money doesn’t matter anymore; not since the mechas invaded.

It started harmless enough, as most apocalypses do, as most wars do, as most disasters do; unique galaxy waves, a difference of how people should be treated, a gentle earthquake before the tsunami… It started with a meteor shower, as normal as any other, lights across the sky in a mosaic of beauty; few meteorites impact the Earth, even fewer cause damage.

At first, it was breathtaking; the sky was alight, each brick of space soaring through the sky without a care in the world. Or for it; they crashed through the atmosphere—not meteorites, not asteroid pieces—the mechas. Robotic in form, metallic to the touch, with weapons of destruction.

Tim turns Damian towards him—Dick’s little brother—and zips his coat up; the kid bats him away.

“Yo, Dick!” Jason trots over, and Tim reaches to take the backpack from him; as always, Jason scutters away from contact, and any perceived show of weakness. He gives Tim the side-eye, stepping away again and closer to the eldest in their group. “No mechs; and the patrol drone just went by, so we’re clear for ‘nother 15 minutes.”

Dick nods; a curl of dark hair falls over his brow. He’s let it grow out since they first met. “Ok, so if we’re going to do this, we do it now.” He motions for Damian to come closer; the kid’s small enough to fit into cramped quarters that the others can’t reach. “We’ll be back in 10 minutes; if we’re not…you guys know what to do.”

A solemn nod is shared, and after a quick glance down the street Dick and Damian slip away; supplies are always in demand, especially since the patrols were set up on a such a strict timetable. But, with some spare time, they’re able to step out into the cold autumn sun; there’s a chilling wind blowing between the buildings.

Tim takes a seat on the door step, and Jason steps around him; out into the broken asphalt road, Jason digs around in his jacket pocket. Tim blows over his hands, takes a deep breath, and lets it out as Jason shakes a cig out of the box; he’s got a lighter clutched in his hand too and he clicks it on to light the cigarette pinched between his lips.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Tim murmurs; a dead wind kicks up and he huddles further into his jacket. “It’ll give you cancer.”

The older teen’s laugh is muffled; Jason pulls the cig from his lips, bends down to Tim’s level, and blows smoke in his face. “I think the radiation’ll get me first, pretty bird.”

The mechas brought with them a destruction of the earth and its atmosphere, causing radiation of varying types and degrees; still, Tim frowns and waves the smoke away.

“At least put it out before Damian comes back.”

Another muffled laugh, bordering a scoff; Jason scuffs his boot against the ground. “You really think that twerp’s gonna care if I smoke? The kid swears like a fuckin’ sailor.”

He huffs on the nicotine again, blows it out slow over chapped lips; Tim huddles over his knees. They’ll have to go back inside in a little while; but for now, Jason smokes and Tim watches.

“You really think your dad’s gonna be waiting for you?” Jason’s smoking again; they’ve lit a small fire in this apartment, pulled the curtains closed over the windows and stacked what furniture was left at the door. Jason’s mapped out every exit and pointed them out to the other three kids; that had been just in the first ten minutes.

Dick shrugs and Damian, sleeping against his side, shifts restlessly. “I don’t know; but I know he would have gone to the bunker. We just have to make it home.”

Tim scrapes his spoon against the can, scooping out the last of the beans; he doesn’t know where to look for his parents. Last he knew of them, they were halfway to Europe for a vacation. Jason juts his chin out to catch Tim’s attention.

“What about your parents? They still alive?”

“I dunno; I’m on my own I guess.”

Flicking ash from his cigarette he scoffs. “Right,” he drawls; leaning back against a couch cushion, he takes a drag and puffs it out in rings.

“Good thing we’re neighbors then, right, Tim?” Dick smiles reassuringly. “There’s plenty of space in the bunker for all of us.”

Tim wonders if that includes Jason, then shakes the doubt from his mind; of course it does. Richard Grayson is nothing but kindness and hope wrapped in a bundle of protectiveness and patience; of course that includes Jason.

They take turns standing watch, counting the amount of times a drone’s lights pass by the building, mapping out the patrol times. Jason goes first; Tim wakes up, takes over, realizes about twenty minutes in that Jason probably wasn’t going to wake him at all.

But that’s just how he is; Tim’s good at reading people. At recognizing their motivation, at figuring out just what to say when, at knowing why they do what they do; and Jason, for all his bravado and swagger, was one of the most open people Tim had ever met. Cold green eyes, scarred skin, a busted lip that grinned with mischief and something broken…

He was jagged edges and mistrustful, so of course he wouldn’t have woken Tim; who can do a better job than himself? And, even now, Tim breathes with Jason; in such a tandem that it could almost fool someone into thinking Jason was asleep. But every fifth breath is a slight stutter—some sort of scarred lung tissue, or possibly repeat trauma to his ribs, remembered to be careful about—prevalent in his daily cadence, but something that would alleviate with sleep. Psychosomatic.

The night drones on.

Come morning, they eat again and set out quietly; they push the furniture away from the door and Jason slowly creaks it open. He peeks out one way, then the other, then back again; then he tips his head, delicately breathing. Listening; Damian shifts, and Jason hushes him. The boy glares haughtily; it’s cute, and Tim smiles.

They slip out into the early sun, creep through alleyways and broken gravel, further across the city; Jason grabs Dick’s sleeve to keep him from tripping off the curb, and Tim warns Damian not to wander too far from them. When they come upon a patrol unit, they squeeze into hiding places: a recessed doorway, behind the corner of a building, the shadows of foliage…

Coming up is the open lanes of the outskirts of Gotham City, open to searching eyes and murderous mechas; they will be exposed, so they take a moment to pause in the safety of an abandoned store. The windows are shattered, but the counter is intact and the four boys hunker low for safety; Jason peers out briefly.

“Ok,” he mutters, “once we get out there, we have to move and not stop; can you run, kid?”

Damian frowns, whether at the question of his skills or the nickname is questionable, and glances over at Jason. “Of course I can.”

Jason nods. “Good for you; you got that, pretty boy?” He stares intently at TIm, and then Dick. “You can’t stop for shit.”

At their nods, Jason takes one more cursory glance about the outside; and then he’s running, backpack firm against his body as he goes. His legs are strong, and he moves in a mix of strength and agility; feet planted, he weaves about rubble and abandoned cars and the others follow his outlined path.

Wayne Manor eventually, after a few slow trotting breaks, comes into view; its once regal nature has been reduced to smoldering rubble, windows busted out, halfways standing, doors splintered and stairwells destroyed. Dick only takes a brief moment to come to terms with the change before he takes hold of Damian’s hand and urges him forward.

As soon as they enter the shadows of the house, they take a moment to catch their breath; Tim leans on his knees and Jason huffs, Damian heaving but attempting to hide it. Dick glances about the house for a sign that Alfred and Bruce made it to the bunker in one piece.

“The entrance is this way.”

They weave through the ruins, testing out their foot placement for any loose flooring before taking another step; they’ve reached what might’ve once been the entrance to the library when Jason hears it. A hum, a tribble, the murmur of a patrol drone.

He doesn’t have the chance to warn the others before it comes around the corner of a half destroyed wall; he sees it startle in notice of them, reel back in preparation for contact with its superiors, and Jason figures there’s only one way to salvage this. They need to get into the bunker, but if the drone were to report the existence of a bunker the mechas would stop at nothing to destroy it.

He reaches to the small of his back, under his jacket, where he’s stashed his weapon; just a small handgun, something snatched from a dead man on the side of the road, but hopefully enough to give them the edge they need. He aims, even as Tim yells for Damian to find cover and Dick searches for a weapon of his own, and pulls the trigger; the drone jerks in surprise, a small piece flying off from the top of its rounded head, and Jason considers pulling the trigger again. He doesn’t get the chance to.

With its communication component damaged, the drone warbles; it flashes red, then white, then red consistently faster and faster. A failsafe that Jason’s only seen once before; it turns into a suicidal bomb, raring up for an explosion, hurtling towards their hiding spot behind the halfassembled wall.

The drone shrieks, the earth shakes, the wall cracks; Jason, legs splayed to keep from falling, catches sight of Damian in the shadow of the wall. He dives, and Tim hears the hitch of a breath despite the explosion.

Funnily enough, it was neither that killed him. Not the cancer sticks and not the radiation; it was Damian, or Tim, or Dick, or maybe the rubble or they could blame the mechas.

Indisputable, however, is the unblinking gaze and caved in skull clearly displayed as the smoke dissipates; the slowly spreading pool of blood, the still chest, the twisted arm. Jason lays dead, having covered Damian from the falling wall of Wayne Manor; and Damian, poor Damian, Damian is buried beneath him with just his shocked eyes peering out from under his arm.

Dick stutters forward, falls to his knees, and gingerly begins shifting the debris; he pointedly grits his teeth and doesn’t look at Jason. Instead, he mumbles at his brother and continues to dig them out; continues to dig Damian out, shifting brick as quick as possible.

“It’s ok, Dami, I’ll have you out in just a minute; it’s ok, don’t cry.”

“I’m…” Damian’s voice is breathy and stuttering. “I’m not crying; is Jason alright?

Tim can’t move; he should help Dick, but he can’t move. Too shocked, too frozen, too grief stricken; he stands there useless.

Dick doesn’t answer Damian’s question; instead, he pushes drywall to the side. “You’re gonna be fine, Dami.”

When the rubble is cleared, and Tim still stands uselessly to the side, Damian stumbles out from under Jason’s cooling body; Dick runs his hands over Damian’s body, and Damian holds his gaze with Jason’s vacant eyes.

“Does this hurt? Are you ok? Damian!”

A solemn shake of his head. “I...I am fine.”

Dick grips Damian against his shoulder, carries him down the demolished hallway, whispering the whole way; little reassurances and quiet hums. Tim follows; dragging a foot through the air and over the still body, Tim moves forward. Dead eyes stare to the past as three look to the future.

They’re a strange group; a boy adopted into wealth, and two born into it. Not that it matters anymore; money hasn’t had a purpose since the mechas invaded…


End file.
